Spiderman: Spirit Never Dies
by q1120790
Summary: Spiderman, late night crime, and an author hyped up on caffeine can only spell... Wacky adventures. Warning: Your eyes aren't deceiving you and the Story IS as stupid as it appears. See for yourself...Chap 4 up...bout time...
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** **_I truthfully swear that Spider-man belong to that creative mastermind, Stan Lee (sticks out tongue-SPOILSPORT). I am making no profit from this, and am merely enjoying the chance to create my own version of a day in the life of such a great fictional character. Other than a few onlookers, and some unforeseen changes, none of the main characters are mine. _**

* * *

The smell of smoke was the first thing that hit him. It rose up in greeting like an old friend, and the only movement was his chest expanding to fill his lungs with it. He drank it in greedily, and sat in silence.

It tasted like rush hour traffic and the Italian Bakery around the corner. Sniffing, he isolated the strain of acrid smells… Then shifted again; crouching to support his weight with both hands, and caught it. And smiled, and shook his head in slight disappointment.

_ Ah, the oven's broken again. No dinner stop before home now, Pete. _

The darkness around him broke then, as he stretched from his vigil. Bones cracked audibly, and cramped muscles ached in protest. Sparing one final glance over his shoulder, at the imposingly dark and silent structure of the West Side Jewellers; he rose, unfolding his body from the lithe crouch.

He gave up- no-one was breaking into that place tonight. And as the clock tower chimed one behind him, he shot a web onto the lamppost; deciding on one last swing before returning home. In a jog he launched himself off the roof; webs shooting out and catching grip on the stone walls lining the high streets.

His territory.

The cold breeze bit at his face through the mask as he swung down low; almost grazing the gravel before arching high again. Unconsciously, his muscles flexed and twisted, beginning the complex aerial acrobatics New Yorkers had come to know as a signature as unique as the individual performing them.

Suddenly exhilarated, he somersaulted over a set of traffic lights and caught some of the surprised looks of the motorists and onlookers, pointing at the sky as he swung overhead.

"Look, that's him. Hey, that's Spider-man!"

_ Yeah_, Pete focused on his next swing as the world around him righted itself from the dizzying spin of the somersault. _Like some dude wearing read and blue webbed skivvies, vaulting from lines of web in the sky would be ANYONE else_.

Chuckling at the logic, he set down on a high rise roof neighbouring his next stop: Midtown Currency Exchange.

This too, however, was as quiet as the grave- rounding off Pete's night as the slowest all week. Not that he minded. Not at all… It would have been an enjoyable change of pace if it wasn't for a slight nagging at the back of his brain. He was mindful, always concerned-that Mary Jane was still getting used to the knowledge of his ...extracurricular activities, and worried about how she was coping with it all.

True, it _had_ been a great deal to get used to, and his phone bill grew exponentially as, despite their best efforts to find an apartment together- the New York housing shortage was working against them.

It was then that Mary Jane insisted on nightly phone calls between them- Peter had liked the idea of moving in together, and began to voice qualms over the costs of such an idea, but one look at Mary Jane's face told him it was most definitely, _not negotiable_.

Doing so, probably would have invited more trouble than he'd ever faced from any villain- the late Doc Oc, and the Green Goblin included.

Actually, the pair of them combined would have produced less of a thunderstorm that would be raging at her place about now. Pete winced slightly as he recalled the last time he had been late in calling. After a particularly long and drawn out search for a missing child on his way home, his return had been delayed until the early hours of the morning.

_Memory flashback_

_Not wanting to disturb Mary Jane, he waited until mid-morning before heading over to her apartment. After two knocks, the door was wrenched open by a very, very angry young woman, who after staring at him for a millisecond, gave him the_ **_loudest_**_, and what was sure to be the _**_longest_**_ lecture of his life, then tearfully made him promise to never worry her like that again._

_It was the tears in the end, that clinched it- the screaming he could handle, but as soon as the tears started falling down her cheeks, Pete's battered heart took another painful shot to its core, and pulling her into the _**_longest_**_ hug of her life, softly apologised while gently rubbing soothing circles into her tense back. _

_Realising how truly affected she was by the last year, he almost kicked himself for missing the now telltale signs- the long phone calls, the urgency to find an apartment together. He led her inside then, and it had taken a lot of explaining and smooth talking on Pete's part, to calm her down- and to dull his conscience as it called him every insult under the sun. _

_End flashback _

He smiled slightly as he remembered that afternoon they spent in the park- in a desperate move, he had swung them to the botanical gardens, and watching Mary Jane's expression transform from tension to pure joy, had totally lightened up his week. Shivering slightly as a cold breeze whipped through him, he was especially thankful to have such tender moments to revisit whilst on these rounds- if only heart-warming and not the rest of his frozen self.

After greatly debating turning in for the night, Pete suddenly became aware of the stillness of the street. Totally peaceful. Completely unnerving.

_I know it's late, but nowhere in New York is entirely devoid of noise- no question 'bout it. Something is wrong. And that means that I should be picking up somethi…Hey!_

His spider-sense hit the back of his neck like a wave, and his body reacted instantly; vaulting backwards over the side of the building, into the high shadows of the alley below.

With palms and feet clinging easily to the rough surface, his nerves stretched out against the silence that pierced the night. From this perch the entire street was visible, and the streetlamps caught the dull glimmer of the costume's eyepieces as he turned to survey the rest of the alley.

It took several seconds to realize that the small blinking pairs of eyes that stared back unblinking belonged to five rats who, seconds later, turned their attention back to the contents of the overflowing trash cans crowding under the rusted fire escape.

_Urgh, there's a pleasant surprise for anyone ballsy enough to use that rusted death-trap! _

But there was that noise, so faint even Pete found himself straining to hear it. Shifting weight, he concentrated, brow furrowed behind the mask, as he had done minutes before…searching for the elusive strain. That sound which gradually rose in tempo as he felt senses sharpen, and then saw rather than heard, all the combined whispers of the night.

As it grew louder, a composite set of multiple mental images took shape- and a crazy surround sound slide show shot through his brain. The scratching noise of hungry rodents searching through the rotting garbage behind him, hardly pausing to glance up.

The scene shifted suddenly again-fading out to a driver three blocks down, blaring the horn angrily, checking her wristwatch impatiently.

Pete shook his head, frustrated, searching; angling it toward the apartment building right next door to the Currency Exchange. Gathering all his concentration into one instant, the vision blackened, his movements stilled as the hyper-fast images slowed, revolving around and around until…Stop. An image whiter than the others…

And there it was! An innocent sound- on its own-but Pete never relied on just the five senses to gather information. And his spider sense was throwing multiple images of flashing metal scraping against each other like sparks.

_Pete's vision_

_The sick gleam of dull metal moved- sailing through the air in a downward arc, and striking its target with intent accuracy. Pulled back again, for another blow, more forceful than the last, connecting with the smooth surface and shattering it, sprinkling down in chinks of broken stone. _

_A sculptor! Doubtful, considering the hour and the way his sixth sense was hitting overdrive. But what, then? _

Stifling a sigh, Pete resigned himself to the irony of the situation, and swung down to the Bank roof, his spider sense growing in pressure at the back of his skull.

Through the bank skylight, Pete watched as two thieves, obviously inexperienced, continued to hammer away at the thick marble wall that separated them from the safety deposit boxes, with little success.

Pete's anger almost gave way to amusement as he continued to watch the scene below, as one man threw the chisel down in frustration, and turn his stocking-ed head towards his accomplice, voicing the utter hopelessness of the plan, which Pete guessed to be, a bypassing of bank security and the complexity of the vault door.

He certainly had to concede the point, as he strung a web through the now-open skylight, moving silently to hang upside down behind the pair, as they continued, oblivious.

_Great. Why do I always get the pathetic criminals on my watch? Must be karma_.

He waited, patiently, and after several moments he rolled his eyes to keep from laughing out loud. Cursing loudly, the larger of the two dropped the hammer to the floor, earning him a slap from the other, as the noise echoing loudly through the deserted building.

At that point, it was all Peter could do to stop himself from cracking up, and he felt his ribs strain from the silent effort of reigning in the great gusts of laughter that threatened to give away his position. _If I hadn't seen it, there's no way I'd believe these pair ever made it this far without tripping security. _

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted, back to Mary Jane, and that bloody phone call he was yet to make. Realising just how close he was to being dismembered when he got back, sobered up Pete's mood instantly. _Hi honey! Sorry I'm late-I was held up by a robbery- by New York's most Bumbling, incompetent, stupid robbers- yeah, Mary Jane'll believe that one. Oh, yeah, it's definitely karma!_

Checking the lateness of the hour on the large clock positioned over Beavis and Butthead, on the wall they were so intent on, Pete decided that enough was enough. He cleared his throat. Loudly.

They turned around slowly, their eyes widening beneath the thin fabric of their masks, as they finally saw the biggest glitch in their plan, hanging upside down behind them. Noting the well known red and blue stretch costume with rising desperation and dread, the pair jumped as the figure suddenly waved cheerily in their direction.

Coughing loudly, Spiderman jolted them out of their stupor. "Ahem. I assume you gentleman are not here to make an after hours deposit. So until I see some paperwork, you'll just have to come back later, and wait in line forever like everyone else." Smirking underneath the mask, he waited for them to either run, or charge him. Inevitably, they always did.

However, after several long moments, Pete was slightly surprised to see neither figure moved so much as a step, as though they had become rooted to the marble floor they stood upon.

_Oookay! That was easy._ Jumping down into a crouch, he moved towards them, arms outstretched-intent to web them to the cracked wall, and leave a nice little package for the bank personnel to find, in a few hours. _Be nice to go home and…oh jeez!_

As the crowbar swung again, Pete flipped back to avoid the blow, giving himself over to instinct, his anger rising, all patience gone. He was so caught up in his thoughts he had almost missed the blur of metal rushing towards his head, and once again, he offered up thanks for his spider sense as it sent him flying backwards, out of harms way.

Butthead, holding the crowbar like a club, and grinning as Spiderman vaulted backwards, ran towards the costumed figure, relishing in putting the weapon through our hero's head.

Sighing yet again, Pete turned to greet the morons that had effectively, ruined his evening. Trying to run him through with a crowbar was nothing different, but so help them if they caused Mary Jane even more worry on his part (for which he conceded, that he was not entirely without blame).

Pete tempered his anger, by reminding himself that stupidity was not grounds for wiping the floor with anyone- and with one punch he levelled the oak tree as it barrelled towards him. He hit the round hard, and remained there, unmoving.

Beavis winced, as he heard, more than saw, Spiderman's fist connect with a sickening crunch, into his friend's face as the idiot had, unthinkingly, tried to ram one of New York's most notorious superheros. But all thoughts instantly turned inward, as Spiderman turned, ever so slowly, to stare at the cowering robber, only a few feet away.

"Hey, _hey_…We're sorry man. Just needed the money- didn't harm nothing. Honest! You gotta believe me!" He was babbling now, reading with mounting terror, furious tension in the costumed man's frame that even now, stalked towards him like a foreshadowing of his own doom.

Spiderman stopped. "You're scared?" Beavis nodded violently in agreement, not wanting to piss off this character with anything that could be read in incompliant.

Still, he almost wet himself, when he saw the chin fabric of the mask stretch in what had to be a wide smile.

"Good. Because of you and you're pathetic attempts at robbery…or wildly successful attempt at marble chiselling, I am in such incredibly deep trouble that you, in all your moronic intelligence, cannot even begin to comprehend."

_ Spiderman's in trouble. That's gotta be some world class shiiiiitttt! _Beavis's thoughts rendered dead, as soon as Pete took a menacing step forward and suddenly webbed the man in place. Doing the same to the downed accomplice, he shot a string to the ceiling and was in the process of climbing out the skylight when, Moron number One found his voice again.

"Kidding right? Spiderman scared of something!" Visions of dread filled the man with renewed fear, but he continued, "Another big ass mother like Green Goblin gonna pop up?"

Pete just wanted to sleep- but the man looked so white that he wasn't sure that he hadn't accidentally webbed the guys face. Grimacing at the memory of his previous foes, he answered. "No!"

"No," Beavis squeaked, now fully graduated from terrified to scared shitless. "What's worse that that crazy son of a…" He suddenly stopped, not really wanting to know what horrors were lurking out there- worse than what the city had seen before.

Spiderman looked pensive for a second, and his reply rang down through the building to the guy webbed to the marble floor, seemingly unintelligible waves of fear rolling off the man. _Hmmm, wonder how my Spidy sense picked that up…Never mind!_

Then in a swift acrobatic move, he was out the opening and disappeared into the night. Silence rang throughout the building- broken only by Beavis's ragged gasps as he stared up at the ceiling, brow wrinkled in confusion.

To the empty silence of the building, he voiced his opinion of what he believed the crime-fighter's reply, his voice almost cracking with the combined pulls of relief and self doubt.

"What…did he just say…_Women_?"

* * *

Sorry- it loaded with some grammer errors. Reposting it was a pain in the butt! And if you're reading this then you either skipped to the end (shame in you) or you finished it! Hooray-the next chapter may be a while but, a little thing called life is slowly killing off my muses! 

Well, I'm off to buy Muse Insurance...and finish this wacky tale (I hope ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanx for waiting. Had exams- urrgghhh (shudders). I didn't want MJ to come out as such an over-controlling pain- she's just overly- concerned for Peter, and not yet used to the whole 'superhero' business. And Pete's excuse was exhaustion. **

**Anywho, back to the disclaimer: I don't own Peter Parker (would I be writing this if I was? ), I'm not making any money from this...blah, blah, blah! **

* * *

Jonah Jameson was a proud man. Or so he told himself, at least once a day. And in his opinion, there was a great deal that he had to be proud of- an excellent career, nice house, great salary, a decent barber, a son who was an astronaut, and a genius (much like his father), and a good wif…No scratch that-he was proud of _almost_ everything in his life.

Right now, he was proud to be the editor and owner of the Daily Bugle. All his staff treated him with the utmost respect- then again; they wouldn't be here for long if they did otherwise.

Profits were up, there was a break in the perpetual Libel suits, and, with any luck, tonight's edition would be another 'hot-off-the-presses' success. As it should be…

So, when everything was going so _well_, why was it that no-one could explain to him where in the HELL was that kid, Parker? His secretary had called the_ reliable _contact number listed in his employee records, SEVEN times, and to no avail.

Jonah wasn't going to lie- he was deep, deep, _deep_ down… vaguely worried that something may have happened to the boy, that would make him so very late for a work appointment. And, after seeing him trudge into the office resembling an extra from a zombie movie on several occasions, it was a most definite possibility.

Not that he paid much attention to that- just as long as Parker was alive, his hands weren't broken, and he brought photos of that costumed _miscreant_; it was none of Jameson's business what the boy did in his spare time. Unless, of course, it was front page material, and if such an event _ever occurred_ (of which he remained highly doubtful) he would eat one of his much-loved stogies.

_Hell,_ he'd eat a whole box of the damn things- and good, expensive ones, too- if such a thing were to take place right under his nose!

Even after twenty years in the business, he had no concerns about his reporter's instincts having dulled in that time. If anything, they had improved a great deal since he had began working at the then small-time rag he now considered his home. His house was his home away from home, and if his _wife_ had her way, he'd spend more time there, than at the Daily Bugle.

Jonah shuddered at the thought, disturbed by the notion of such long periods of close proximity with the woman- whose idea of Current Affairs and High Profile News was the latest happenings on her blasted soap opera. Unbelievable!

Of course, as the editor walked back to his desk from the stunning morning view (another plus in his life) of the city, and stabbed the remnants of his cigar viciously into his overflowing ashtray, he was also just plain _mad_.

No, furious would be a better word for the slow burn he felt in the back of his brain.

If…No, WHEN the kid eventually showed up (if he still valued his job), Jonah himself would lecture the living hell out of him, ensuring that he understood the responsibilities that came with being a photographer for one of the most prestigious papers in the city- waltzing in whenever he bloody well-pleased can, and would not, be tolerated. Especially regarding appointments with the editor-in-chief!

_ The youth of today- all worried 'bout appearances and money. No sense of responsibility_ _or understanding of committment. Orwholly devoting yourself to something greater than the individual. It's all Play stations and bling-bling to them. _

_Of course, if parents would just discipline their kids from the get-go, instead of clumsily stumbling their way through raising them, we might not be in this position. Fathers teaching sons about the consequences of their actions- that's how it should be- instead of ignoring the whole damn thing, pret…_

A polite cough from the direction of the door, snapped him out of his revere. Without bothering to glance up, he settled behind his desk and reclined back into the leather comfort of the chair.

When the second cough came, Jonah shot the man a glare that would have killed a number of small animals, before answering with an annoyed grunt of acknowledgment, curtly waving the intruder in.

Obviously, the man was either denser that rock, or misinterpreted the gesture, because it was after several seconds when Jonah realized that the figure had not, in fact, moved an inch from the doorway.

Repeating himself was not something Jameson did often, and for good reason.

"Well…?" The man looked decidedly out-of-place, as if unused to the frantic air of the outside bullpen- an odd characteristic to find in anyone in the likes of New York; where pushing through crowds was refined to a sport. Those who didn't know how got trampled rather badly.

"For God's sake, don't just stand there like a useless mop- Decide what you're doing with yourself and be quick about it." Jonah watched the man through a thin haze of rising smoke as he lit a second cigar, and brought it to his mouth.

Jolted into action, the figure practically flew into the office space and made a move for the chair opposite Jonah, when he barked again.

"Who said you could sit down?" On closer inspection, the ma…boy, Jonah realised, looked no older than eighteen, and he wondered how the kid had gotten past his secretary, let alone into the building.

On the other hand, the intruder looked more terrified of him than anything, and not cocky- but also naïve to the fact that he was seconds away from being forcibly removed from Jameson's office- the longer the kid remained silent, the angrier Jonah got, and the less likely it was, that he could reign in his temper.

The lad, currently under the editor's steely scrutiny- winced slightly, aware of the implied disrespect, and that, it was in no way a _temporary_ lapse of manners.

Familiar with this man's reputation, the rudeness only served to remind the boy to get to the point- and quickly too, by the looks of impatience crossing the face of the man sitting opposite.

"Ummm….I'd like a job sir!"

Whatever reaction he had expected, after visualising this scene in his mind countless times, it certainly wasn't this- he looked on, concerned as Jameson doubled over from a raucous bout of laughter, and remained that way for several seconds.

As swiftly as it had begun, the coughing barks ceased, and the young man shrunk into the seat as once again, he was stabbed by the older man's glare. Silence enveloped the office, and finally, it was the young man who spoke again, unable to contain his unease as the seconds stretched out against his nerves.

"I'm a photographer, and I believe that I can provide the Daily Bugle with a unique visual perspective of life in New York." _There, I said it._

With eyebrows raised high enough to reach his receding hairline, Jonah almost gave in to the urge to laugh again. _Who the hell does this kid think he is? I'd better nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand._

"Listen, kid…"

"Uh, Samuel. Samuel Guthrie..."

The polite interruption left Jonah slightly out-of-beat, and rudely ignored it, to continue.

"Yeah, whatever! Listen young man, I don't appreciate being told what it is I need, especially by someone from your age bracket! I have neither the time, nor the patience to listen to every crackpot that walks off the streets with a '_unique perspective of life'_ to peddle."

"So I suggest that you get your insolent little butt out of this office, before I call security and get you removed in a less than pleasant fashion. Understood?"

The last word rose in tempo, and all but pushed Samuel out of the chair with its ferocity. Still, the boy was determined to be heard. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a folder and held it to his chest, as in his haste to stand up, he almost tripped.

"Ah, sir. If you'd please reconsid…."

"OUT!"

Eyes wide, the boy hurriedly turned, to race out the door, inwardly cursing himself for the whole embarrassing mess. So intent on his inner self-depreciating monologue, that he ran headfirst into the beautiful woman standing just inside the doorway.

Apologising profusely, the boy detangled himself, from whom he now recognised as Jamison's private secretary.

_Oh wonderful! _Completely mortified, Samuel wondered whether it was actually possible for a person to die of embarrassment. He bent to help the poor girl off the floor, catching briefly, the utter contempt reflected in Jameson's face, even through the thick veil of smoke that masked the man's head slightly.

"Miss Brant, wonderful timing. Please escort our young guest to the elevator. And make sure he _leaves._"

Straightening out an invisible wrinkle in her skirt, and shooting Sam a quick glance, Betty completely ignored the request.

"Actually, sir- I thought you'd like to know, I just called Peter's girlfriend, and she confirms that he is rather ill at the moment and won't be coming into work today."

If physics _had_, in fact, enabled death by embarrassment, as Samuel had previously pondered, then it would also stand to reason, that, after hearing that unwelcome news, Jonah's head would have exploded.

As it was, he face took on a dangerous shade of red. "WHAT? And how am I going to print the evening edition without a PAGE ONE PHOTO?"

Taking that as his que to leave, Sam was almost out the door when Jonah's enraged voice stopped him.

"Let me see that folder, kid." Suddenly hesitant, Sam paused before crossing the room to place the item still clutched to his chest, on Jonah's desk, eyes flicking between Betty's supportive smile, and the impatient glare of the man who had, moments ago, threatened him with bodily harm.

Jonah snatched up the folder, and for a second, Sam swore that the man's eyes widened slightly as he perused the photographs inside. Hopeful again, the boy straightened his posture, and tried to mask a smile at the rising excitement in his stomach.

Jonah couldn't believe his eyes: and had to concede that the boy was talented, and _young_- which probably meant he was inexperienced. Jonah's ability to bluff was another proud moot point, but even he recognised a terrible hand when it was dealt.

"Fine," gruffly, he resigned himself to the irony of the situation. As Sam's eyes lit up, he added, rather curtly "Betty, take him to Kensington and tell her we have a rush order on the Mackenzie piece, and to take the boy with her."

Exchanging a look with his secretary, he turned back to the window, as Betty led the grinning boy to the door. They were almost out when Jonah's voice whipped across the silence.

"Guthrie…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Screw up, more than once, and you're fired."

Betty noted the boy's deflated expression at that statement, and waited until they were safely beyond Jonah's hearing range before acknowledging him for the first time since their awkward introduction.

"Hey, don't worry. That's just Jonah's way of saying it." Pointing him in the direction of Kensington's booth, Betty settled back into the huge mound of paperwork crowding her inbox.

Nodding appreciatively, Sam started towards the direction he'd been ordered to, and then turned back to face the secretary, as she stared up at him, eyes dancing with amusement, at the boy's daze.

"Wait. His way of saying _what_, exactly?"

Laughing inwardly at the boy's apphrensive expression, she felt her smile widen, and tilted her head back playfully, to catch his deep blue gaze.

"Welcome to the Daily Bugle."

* * *

Mary Jane's hand was shaking by the time she placed the phone receiver back in its cradle. Hoisting herself out of the wicker chair, she crossed the bare cold floor of her apartment, the agitated knot in the pit of her stomach rising to settle in her throat.

'Officially freaked out' couldn't even begin to cover the wide expanse of confliction dogging her every move.

Arms moved, the kettle boiled; its high pitched hiss with the rising steam adding a somewhat detached feel to the scene. Walking back to the chair, mug in hand, her rational brain took time to add up the pieces.

_ He said he would call…He hasn't called…His phone's not answering…Work doesn't know where he is…_

She'd lied for him- said it was the stomach flu or something else trivial, and the woman at the other end took on a slightly concerned tone as her voice wished for his speedy recovery.

_ You and me both!_ Right now, taking deep calming breaths, watching tufts of steam rise lazily from the mug she held in a near death grip, it occurred to her that, even with the phones calls, it was impossible for her to always know all of the happens, in the life of one Mr. Peter Parker. _Doesn't mean I can't try!_

As the heat bit into her palms, she hit a sudden painful understanding of how difficult it was for him. Being true to the responsibility of protecting those who can't protect themselves, but having to separate yourselves from those you love, for the same reason.

Rising, she realised that she'd just made a decision.

Grabbing her keys and her purse, she was out the door before even pausing to think it over.

Determination washed over all the bad emotions like a torrent- she pelted out the doors of her apartment building, with speed that even Superman would envy, and without any regard to her appearance whatsoever-waved her arms like a maniac and climbed into the first cab that stopped.

After instructing the driver to step on it, she settled back and prayed with all her might, knowing full well that if Peter was injured or worse, there wouldn't be a great deal she could do.

_Peter Parker, either you are in a great deal of trouble, or you are going to be!_

* * *

Back in her apartment, the phone rang and rang. As the click of the answering machine took over, a very familiar voice rang throughout the echoing silence.

"_Hey, MJ, look it's me, Peter! Please don't be mad. I am sorry about not phoning earlier, but I had a longer…shift than I'd anticipated. Luckily the trouble was webbed up without problems, but I'm kinda exhausted. I'll see you tonight. Love you…"_

* * *

Peter Parker: _Never tempt fate. In the beginning, after everything that happened, with Harry, MJ, and Uncle Ben, I was quite ready to flip fate the big one, and tell it in less than eloquent terms, to kiss my ass. Unfortunately for me, fate and chance decided to get together, and kick me in it! _


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE 

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own this, not from lack of trying though, Stan Lee owns Spidey (once again, I curse loudly) and absolutely zilch is being made from this…**

**Sorry it took so long (and my sincerest apologies go out to those that waited for that long)…Although I had an absolute blast writing this chapter, and believe that it's full of cutey MJ/Peter goodness (Then again, I might be a tad biased). **

**Enjoy…**

* * *

It was a blissful, never-ending dream. Pete felt himself adrift and weightless- flying with an entirely different feeling, only barely glimpsed whenever he soared high above the streets and alleyways of New York.

Unwilling to let the feeling dissipate, a groan escaped Pete's lips as a continuous sound drilled down into his subconscious. _Funny,_ he shifted against something warm, and familiar. _That sounds like my name…_

Warmth against his cheek; he turned into it, mumbling soft, reactionary words- _her scent, her touch…Mary Jane!_ Now the warmth was all over-hugging to every limb, sending him drifting back into that comforting place.

Hours later, he would awaken, to the quiet, even breathing of Miss Mary Jane Watson, his girlfriend. Curled up next to him, on the cold wooden floor of his apartment, where he had himself, drifted off to an unexpected deep slumber, early that morning.

* * *

**Four Hours Prior…**

_Too slow_! She knew her anxiousness was spreading to the cabdriver, and did her best to restrain herself from tapping at the mesh again. _Hurry up, hurry up…_

As Peter's apartment block slid into view, MJ let out a long breath, her muscles lessening from the tense rigidity that had unconsciously coiled inside her entire frame. The butterflies were still there, coming alive again with a nauseating jolt as the man pulled up to the sidewalk, applying a dangerous amount of force on the antiquated brakes, than necessary.

Grabbing at the doorhandle, MJ scrambled off the frayed leather seats without thought, just the driving need to get to Peter, in whatever state he was in. After an angry outburst from the cabbie, however, she paused, and practically slugged him with a fist-full of notes and coins.

"Keep the change." The cabbie shrank back against the wheel, silently jolted by the almost inhuman growl that poured from this petite, pretty little redhead. Shifting into drive, he pulled back out into the surges of New York traffic, sparing a glance in the rear-view mirror, as the girl disappeared beyond the doors of the rapidly shrinking decrepit apartment block.

Allowing himself a quick sigh, and cutting through the lines of traffic at the next green light, Rozzo's eyes bulged at the amount of money that had nearly caused his latest concussion. Pocketing the fifty, he smiled, pulling up to the next flailing customer.

Whatever faults the agitated ones had, at least they payed big- On purpose or not!

* * *

_That odious, little troll of a man,_ Mary Jane strained to keep her shaking fingers from breaking the key off in the lock, ranting internally about her encounter with Peter's landlord, moments ago, _completely deserved that!_

This didn't stop the slight smile creeping into her expression, as she heard the familiar click as the lock disengaged, completely unrepentant of her reaction, if unintentionally delivered, to the man's incessant money-hounding.

Even after begrudgingly buzzing her into the foyer, the portly Russian decided that his resident's girlfriend was a perfectly acceptable substitute for payment of 'akumuuuu-_lated_ debts' owing.

And so, he followed her up the flights of stairs, barely pausing to draw breath, between tirades of 'late rent', and the 'loss of privileges should it continue', when she had turned on him, ready to launch a livid tirade of her own, and…

Well, truly, she hadn't meant to turn so fast, but the arm carrying her purse had swung up, and caught the man… MJ, despite her initial reasons for visiting the apartment, had walked away from that encounter mildly pleased with herself, while the landlord…She suspected that the man would have to apply ice to a very sensitive part of his anatomy for the next few days.

As the door swung open, she felt the stillness of the tiny apartment scratch along her already frazzled nerves, and practically ran across the threshold.

What she saw next, despite mentally gearing up for the worst, made her heart seize up in her chest, and for a split second stopped breathing…

Sprawled across the wooden floor, unconscious, and pale, was the body of her boyfriend, still in costume. His arms stretched out above his head, lying on his stomach, just inside the sunlit expanse of his terraced windows…

'Peter.' The anguished whisper broke the silence, and propelled MJ to his side. _"PETER!" _As the scream tore from her throat, a horrible clammy foreboding sent her heart into overdrive.

The mental vacuum gave way to a frenzied tornado of thought, and her nerves returned, full force. Shaking fingers pushed hesitantly through the space between them, and sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she searched out his pulse- desperate to feel the reassuring rhythm beneath the surface of his outward stillness.

The soft beat that jumped under her touch made her want to cry in blissful, treasured relief. Instead, and with a gentleness entirely misleading given her current state, turned him over to rest on his back, and MJ felt something tight in her chest, unclench and fly free at the delightfully normal sight of her lover drawing long breaths in and out…in and out, in and…

_Wait!_ She paused, as the telltale sound filtered through her brain. _What was that?_ Tearing her concentration away from it's assessment of her boyfriend's still frame, the noise echoed again, and suddenly the pieces came into startling clarity.

When the third snore sounded, Mary Jane was torn between the desire to choke her idiot boyfriend in his peaceful, undisturbed sleep, or hug the life from him, and wrap him in a lifelong embrace.

Chuckling to herself, she marvelled at the irony that was her life, and reached over to tug the bedspread over both her, and the still-costumed form of her exhausted lover. His arm tightened its sudden hold on her waist, and she curled into the comforting warmth of the embrace.

_If you can't beat 'em…_Yawning sleepily, she snuggled into him, cheek to cheek, and gave little thought beyond the stern lecture she was going to dish out later.

Sinking slowly into a smooth slumber, Mary Jane allowed a quick grin to quirk the corners of her mouth, appreciating the simple pleasure of falling asleep, next to her boyfriend, hero and heart, Peter Parker.

* * *

**I intended his chapter to be a lot longer, but my Muses are still a little off-colour- But I will update soon, with an extended edition. **


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own this, not from lack of trying though, Stan Lee owns Spidey (once again, I curse loudly) and absolutely zilch is being made from this…**

**Sorry it took so long (and my sincerest apologies go out to those that waited for that long)… I have no excuses, nada, nein…This is just a tid-bit of the entire Chapter, but seeing as though I'm still writing it. (If Pete as Spidey seems a bit off then let me know-I wasn't sure as to his type of humour when he's in the mask.)**

**Thanks a bunch for all those reviews…And enjoy…**

* * *

It was going to be a long day. Definitely a gut feeling, which begins as one wakes up that morning, knotting and grinding sneakily away at your intestines until even the brain concedes that something's amiss.

_And if this whole thing goes sideways_…

The man grimaced, forcing down another healthy swig of Pepto-Bismol, in a vain attempt to subside the ebbing unpleasantness that churned his stomach.

…_Then I get a one-way ticket up shit's creek, no question._

He shifted against the cold metal door of the beat up Mustang he called a ride. Leaky roof, suspension shot to hell, and a rear bumper that hung on, he was certain, by the power of seagull droppings that had glued one half firmly in place. A good thing then, he supposed, was that the last time water actually touched the exterior, was during that unfortunate sand dunning incident last October.

The abused machine was on its last legs. The only reason he'd kept it was its absolutely repellent nature- No-one spent too much time near the car, that didn't have to. Even cops, staying the length of a look of disgust and a brief warning to get it off the streets as soon as possible, then fleeing back to the comfort of the sleeker, showier government provided police cars.

"HEY! Hey, watch it, will ya! That stuff's more expensive than what you make a year!" The goons handling the crates dropped one with a particularly loud, echoing crash.

Richard Sykes gave the man a look, internally disgusted at the utter lack of professionalism this job reeked of. He was used to better- the criminal element had been forced to up it's game since Spiderman came to town, and even the Kingpin had been forced to tone down his 'activities'.

_But then again_…

Sykes shook his head, morbidly amused, as the pair dropped yet another crate with a louder ruckus than then first. Luckily the warehouse had been long abandoned, and with wrecking crews showing up in the morning, not a soul was stupid enough to venture out this far-homeless bums and busybodies alike.

He hoped that luck would stay with them for the rest of the way.

…_Like any profession, you have the experts…_ One turned around to shout a nasty string of profanities as the weight sat on his foot, the other laughing with loud guffaws…_And the dregs. _

_Where did the boss dig up this pair of dickweeds? _

A high pitched squeak echoed out from a darkened corner, and the trio wheeled around to flash multiple torches at the source- illuminating the fast disappearing tail of the largest rat Sykes had ever seen.

With a thundering heartbeat pounding through his ears, he turned to the shamefaced pair near the truck, eyes throwing daggers. They shifted uncomfortably under his stare, silent until one of them opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't…Say…A…Word. Pack… the…damn stuff…in the truck- And for God's sake, BE QUIET ABOUT IT!" Sykes ended the sentence at a roar, and the first one…Ray, he was sure the name was…jumped into action, and after a moment on the receiving end of the infuriated man's glare, his much bulkier, less intelligent friend followed suit.

"_Pathetic_" he grumbled under his breath. Within the space of thirty minutes, he was sure that more inept thugs could not be found anywhere, and now silently, here they were, co-ordinatedly packing the last of the crates with sombre expressions, like scolded children.

The roller door of the truck came down with the slightest of bangs, and Sykes allowed himself a smile of grim satisfaction. _Thank you God, Allah, Buddha, whoever's listening…_

It was done. Now all that remained was to go home, and…

_Wait._

Sykes stiffened, the changes in the air around the warehouse hitting his instincts hard. Oblivious, Ray and the other climbed into the bed of the truck, bickering slightly at whose turn it was to drive.

Sykes would have been amazed that either one of them actually possessed a license, but his mind was busy screaming at him, completely on alarm. Slowly he inched his had to the gun holstered near his shoulder, invisible behind the heavy drape of his jacket. _Damn it…Damn it to hell…_

"Go." The command caught the thugs' attention, and Ray stuck his head out the driver's side window to stare at him, his face morphing into an identical expression of Sykes as he saw the gun.

Sykes didn't wait for a reply. "GO, YOU GODDAMN MONKEY, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."

At once, both Sykes and the truck were in motion, and as the warning shadow of a figure played out against the far wall, the thief's legs pumping towards the car, the wheels of the truck squealing at the burnout, simultaneous noises in the vibrating air of the warehouse.

_Fwappt!_

A single, solitary thread of webbing struck the rear tire of the truck and stuck- the thug's panic mirrored in the desperate squeals of the tires as he floored the again and again, getting nothing but the rising steam of burnt tires. The truck was going nowhere.

A second thread of webbing suddenly caught onto Sykes left leg, and he barely had a moment to swear before he was tugged powerfully, forcefully onto his back on the concrete floor. Ouch, did nothing to describe the pain he felt along his lower back, but he had enough sense to keep a firm grip on the gun.

By now, there was no doubt in Skye's mind as to who the figure was, but it took the signature smart alec-ness of the next quip to bring a series of anguished groans from the bed of the truck. Obviously, Ray and the other had previous experience with the city's costumed protector.

"Awwww. You guys are having a party, and no-one invited me. I'm crushed, really." The disjointed voice seemingly came from nowhere, and the two thug's teary whimpering inside the truck rose several decibels, but Sykes kept his gaze fixed on the far pillar bathed in deep shadow.

There. The shadows shifted for an instant and the light bounced back from a pair of refracted eyepieces, then disappeared again as the darkness returned. But Sykes had seen all he needed, and with a grin raised his gun.

"Uh uh. Playing with guns is a big no-no." The figure jumped, twisting and turning through the air to land gracefully in a crouching position, with one arm outstretched towards Sykes, who with wide eyes realised what was coming next, and at once dropped the gun to the floor.

The next thing he knew, his right hand was covered in the same sticky substance attached to his leg, deceptively strong as he tried without success to break free. Sparing a glance over to the truck he saw Spiderman had secured the doors closed with the same stuff; Ray and King Kong would have trouble getting out let alone driving.

As he spied the webbing on the rear tire, a plan formed. Inching forward, he moved his left hand to the gun on the floor behind him. He'd only get one shot at this, and if the rumours about Spiderman were true, he'd sense it coming. One shot would have to do.

* * *

Peter, having sealed the doors, and satisfied the truck wasn't going anywhere, turned to face the fallen man, staring up at him with none of the usual fear and quaking terror most would show, in his position. Shrugging the niggling thought aside, Peter tensed and leapt into a great jump, to land squarely in front of the thug.

"And now for round one… One wrong answer will cost you all your points- Who's behind this?" Although his humour was almost as signature as the costume, there were times when Pete felt the words shallow to the layers of cold steel- angry, impatient towards thugs that thought they were above it all.

This one, thought, seemed less thuggish than the average hired muscle. He titled his head slightly to look at the man, then the truck, a smile forming beneath the mask.

_Time for a little show and tell_…

* * *

**Next time: Same Spider time, Same Spider channel (Peter groans off to the side) "_I can't believe you said that!"_**

**_Oh well..._**


End file.
